


My Turn to Talk

by fennecfawkes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Excessive Banter, First Kiss Stories, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint takes a week off of Avenging, Phil takes a week off Avenger wrangling, and they trade stories as they set up their new life together.</p><p>Not canon compliant. Not my characters. AoS? What AoS?</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Turn to Talk

“Her name was Emily Farmer,” says Phil. “And it was not good.”

Clint smiles. He’s resting his head on Phil’s bare chest as the two of them laze about in bed. It has to be noon by now, but they’ve taken the week off to set up their new apartment and ignore Sitwell’s near-constant emails asking for help managing the remnants of the Avengers. They’re in Cobble Hill now, where Phil was able to secure a recently renovated 2BR/2BA with huge picture windows and slick hardwood floors (perfect for sock sliding, though Clint hadn’t mentioned his excitement over that when he’d first seen the listing). After christening their new bed the night before, Clint and Phil had fallen asleep far too late, which is why they’re just now waking up—and making no strides toward actually getting out of bed.

Years before, before they were together, before they’d ever heard Earth referred to as Midgard or been struck by a curse-happy staff or even seen an alien, they’d begun playing this game. It had started when Phil asked Clint a fairly innocent question about his upbringing, and Clint had clammed up. Minutes passed before Clint said, “Actually, sir, if you could go first, then I’ll tell you something about me.” And that was the rule from there on in. By the time they went on their first date, it was well established that trading anecdotes was a lot easier for Clint than sharing them on his own. It was how Phil had gotten to know Clint—not the Clint of now, but how he’d become that person—and vice versa, and Clint wouldn’t have it any other way.

“First kiss, then?”

“You told me about your first kiss when we were looking for Barnes in Shreveport,” says Phil. “It’s only fair that I tell you about mine now. So Emily and I were lab partners. Biology. I was a sophomore—15—and it was the week we were dissecting mice.”

“High school sounds weird,” says Clint.

“What, you didn’t dissect mice when you were getting your GED?”

“Must’ve been sick that day. So, lab partners.”

“And one day, she spilled some formaldehyde on her dress, which was really low-cut, and she dragged me into the unisex bathroom to help her clean it off. It was mostly on her chest, so there was a lot of me trying not to cop a feel through several layers of paper towels.”

“Even though that’s what she was clearly looking for?”

“Clearly,” Phil says with a chuckle. “Eventually she took the paper towels out of my hands, moved my hands to her waist, and kissed me. You know how when you’re a kid, you assume because of movies and TV that you should move your head around a lot when you kiss?”

“You shouldn’t?”

“You’re hilarious. Well, that was Emily’s style. And while I understand why staying completely still may have seemed counterintuitive.”

“She sounds even worse than Kelly,” says Clint. His first had been an acrobat at Carson’s—17, a full four years older than Clint, and way too generous with her tongue.

“We could try,” Phil suggests, tapping Clint on the head. Clint looks up and Phil leans down to kiss him. It lasts a full fifteen seconds, and Phil’s moving his head around the entire time, back and forth and up and down. He clearly intends to keep going, but Clint’s laughing too hard for that.

“OK, that—yeah, that wasn’t hot for me, I’m sorry,” he says. “Too much tongue now?”

“Gladly,” says Phil, and Clint straightens up and flips around so at least the angle will be better. Turns out too much tongue isn’t a bad thing when you’ve been kissing the same person for years; it quickly turns into a battle for dominance, and Phil’s the clear winner as his tongue swirls around Clint’s and Clint goes from completely relaxed to unbearably turned on within minutes. (Yes, minutes. Phil’s thorough.)

“Seriously?” Clint tries to ask but it’s really more of a moan. “You made Kelly-style kissing hot?”

Phil smirks and pulls away. “You know what I’m capable of, Barton.”

“I don’t mind being reminded.” It’s all Clint has a chance to say before Phil’s kissing him again, tongue slightly less aggressive, but not by much. It doesn’t take long before both their boxers have been kicked off onto the floor and Phil’s rutting against Clint while Clint makes the kinds of noises he finds embarrassing and Phil finds, however improbably, hot. Ten glorious minutes later, Phil rolls off Clint and sighs.

“That sounded happy.”

“It was happy.” He turns to Clint and smiles. “I forgot how much I like vacation.”

“We’re not even going anywhere.”

“Hey, we’re home,” says Phil. “ _Our_ home, now. I’d rather be here than anywhere.”

Typically, Clint might call Phil a sap for saying so, but instead, he runs his hand along Phil’s jaw, smiling when his fingers trail just high enough for Phil to kiss the tips. He agrees too sincerely to make fun of Phil at the moment. Later, that’s what he’ll blame for the next words that come out of his mouth.

“Marry me?”  


Phil’s eyes widen. It looks like he’s swallowing hard. “I—what?”

Clint sits up and Phil follows suit. Taking Phil’s hands in his, Clint says, “Look. I’ve had to fight a war against robots and a war against aliens. I switched sides at one point in one of those. You died, then decided you’d spend your second life wrangling a team of jackass superhumans and one archer you were in love with for some reason.”

“More than one reason.”

“My turn to talk, Phil. Your turn to listen.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ve loved you the whole time,” says Clint. “And by some crazy logic only you can fully understand, you’ve loved me, too. It’s not like it’s not legal. It’s not like it isn’t our right. And even if our honeymoon is spent fighting, I don’t know, mutated horseflies with actual horse heads, isn’t it worth it to have one in the first place? I want you with me the rest of my life. Marriage seems like a pretty damn good way to ensure that.”

Phil nods decisively. “OK.”

“Wait, what?”

“What, you really think I have to think about it?” Phil asks. “I only haven’t proposed because I wasn’t sure you ever wanted that. You seemed happy enough without it.”

“I am happy,” says Clint. “I just think that maybe we could be even happier. You know?”

“I do. And we will be.” Phil pauses, then asks, “Did you plan this?”

“Not even a little,” Clint says with a grin. “Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have dried come on my stomach and maybe in my hair.”

“There’s definitely some in your hair,” says Phil.

“Good to know. So. Marriage?”

“Marriage,” Phil agrees. “And maybe next time we trade stories, I can tell you about my first marriage instead of my first kiss.”

Clint feels his face pale, and Phil laughs so hard it’s practically a bark.

“You really think I would’ve buried the lede on something like that?”

“Asshole,” says Clint, following Phil to the shower. “Just for that, you’re washing my hair _and_ the rest of me.”

“Can’t think of a worse punishment than that.”

“I’ll try,” Clint promises, kissing Phil, not moving his head even once.


End file.
